Twelfth Night with the Earl (The Sutherland Sisters #3)(15)

“Make more, then.”

Thea pressed her lips together as hard as she could to keep herself from screaming. “Very well, my lord.” She snatched the plate from the table and turned to leave, but he stopped her before she’d taken two steps toward the door. “One moment, if you please.”

When she turned, he was holding up one of the books she’d brought earlier. “Fordyce’s Sermons, Miss Sheridan? In fear for my immortal soul, are you? I’m touched by your concern, but I’m afraid it’s too late for me to mend my wicked ways now.”

She walked back to him and jerked the book from his hand with more force than she’d intended. “Perhaps it would help if you told me what you’d like to read?”

His lips twitched, then, “How about Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure? Surely you have that in the library?”

Oh, the maddening man. Her cheeks went so hot she wanted to stick her own head in the basin, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “You told me you don’t like novels.”

“It’s not a novel. It’s a memoir.”

Thea snorted. “A courtesan who never catches a disease? It sounds like fiction to me.”

He laughed. “I’m shocked to find you know so much about Fanny Hill’s adventures, Miss Sheridan.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m certain we don’t have that book in our library.”

“Nonsense. Everyone has that book, whether they choose to admit it or not, and it sounds to me like you’ve read it, so it must be there. I’m sure a thorough search will turn it up. Make sure you check the spine of each and every book until you find it, won’t you? Perhaps I’ll have you up later this afternoon to read it to me.”

Such a pity to disappoint his lordship, but Thea knew beyond a doubt she wouldn’t find that book, no matter how hard she searched.

She dropped a stiff curtsey and turned for the door again.

“Where do you suppose you’re going? I haven’t dismissed you.” He took another bite of the tart, his eyes drifting closed. “One more thing, if you please.”

Dear God in heaven, what now? “Yes?”

“I fancy a bath. Have the footmen bring up the water at once.”

Thea bit her tongue until it bled, but she managed to keep her voice even. “It’s Boxing Day. All the servants have a holiday today, and even if they didn’t, they won’t serve you. The footmen, or the housemaids.”

“That nonsense still? None of them would last a fortnight in London.”

“You mean to say every lord in London is as arrogant and intolerable as—ah, that is . . . I apologize on the servants’ behalf, my lord.”

“No matter. You’ll just have to fetch my bath yourself.”

Blast it. It would take her the rest of the morning to drag the buckets up all those stairs, but it would give him far too much satisfaction if she protested.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a walk, my lord?” She glanced around the darkened bedchamber. He refused to let her open the drapes, and the room was gloomy and stale. “Some fresh air would do you a world of good.”

She had to find a way to get him out of his bedchamber. If he languished in here for his entire visit, she’d never persuade him to fall back in love with Cleves Court.

“I don’t bother with things that do me good.”

Thea blinked in confusion as his words landed with a dull thud in the center of her chest. What did he mean by that? Everything about it felt wrong—

“There’s no fresh air in London, and I see no reason to start inhaling it now. It will only confuse my lungs. In any case, I’m content with where I am.”

Yes, he was content, wasn’t he? Thea’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, lounging in his cozy chair in his banyan, with his plate of sweets at his elbow. All he needed was a pile of tasseled pillows, and he’d look just like a Turkish pasha.

He was rather too content.

If he were deprived of his tarts, his whiskey and his bath, he’d be far less so, wouldn’t he? He might become so discontented, in fact, he’d venture out of his bedchamber in search of his pleasures—

“What are you plotting, Miss Sheridan?”

Thea jerked her attention back to him. “Why, nothing at all, my lord.”

“You forget how well I know you. I recognize that tiny smirk at the corner of your lips.” A slow grin crossed his face. “But perhaps you’re only imagining me in my bath?”

“No!” Heat surged into Thea’s cheeks. She hadn’t been imagining him in his bath at all, but—blast the man—now she was.

“Because a visit could be arranged.” He took in her red cheeks and the infuriating grin widened. “No need to blush, Miss Sheridan. I’m not suggesting you get into the bath with me. Unless you wish it, of course.”

“I don’t wish it!” Dear God, it felt as if her entire body had burst into flames.

“How disappointing. But as I said, there’s no need join me in the bath. You can rub the wet cloth over my shoulders and back just as easily from outside the tub. Have you ever had someone wash and rinse your back for you, Miss Sheridan? It’s quite soothing.”

Thea bit her lip before she could ask if his marchioness usually rubbed his naked back for him. Why should she care what he did in his bath? He might have a dozen marchionesses rub and wash and rinse him, and it wouldn’t make the least bit of difference to her. Not the least bit at all.